


Polaroid

by beautifullyheeled



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Dark Days, Depression, Emotional Confrontation, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Marvel Universe, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Nostalgia, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Scattered Thoughts, Self Shame/Blame, Self-Doubt, Top Steve Rogers, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4010392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/pseuds/beautifullyheeled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years, sixteen days, fuck-all-who-knows how many hours. It was that sort of a day; not so fucking black that he hung out on the rooftop, no sunshine-and-rainbows with thoughts of mayhem running his veins. No, not that bad. He just needed. The memory of then had pulled at him all afternoon, this was the last resort. Bucky dug through his closet, moved shoes and god-knows-what down to the rug, pulled it away and began to pry at the wood floor. It didn't take long. </p><p>Bucky looked at the camera, the shoebox. He liberated them both. So many pictures of... everything, contained in thin cardboard and shitty glue meant to house his running shoes. His 'journal'. Well, the beginning of it. The hell of it. The let down, fucked up, completely insane- </p><p>That was before, he reminded himself. Then.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polaroid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stephrc79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephrc79/gifts).



> Before reading, I wanted to put up a little note. So many of us have been through so much. As a survivor of different forms of abuse, there are days, even still, that I have 'dark days'/'danger nights'. That said, I know there will always be a light at the end of it. Even if it's too dark to see in the midst of it all, I can promise it's there. Sometimes it just takes someone to help you find it.
> 
> This is a work of love for Stephrc79. She is one of my best friends. A woman who I have leaned on and love dearly. She's brought me into this fandom, writes for it, so please- go visit her as well. 
> 
> Thank you all who have welcomed me warmly into this fandom. 
> 
> Love and Light~ Bo

Five years, sixteen days, fuck-all-who-knows how many hours. It was that sort of a day; not so fucking black that he hung out on the rooftop, no sunshine-and-rainbows with thoughts of mayhem running his veins. No, not that bad. He just needed. The memory of then had pulled at him all afternoon, this was the last resort. Bucky dug through his closet, moved shoes and god-knows-what down to the rug, pulled it away and began to pry at the wood floor. It didn't take long. 

Bucky looked at the camera, the shoebox. He liberated them both. So many pictures of... everything, contained in thin cardboard and shitty glue meant to house his running shoes. His 'journal'. Well, the beginning of it. The hell of it. The let down, fucked up, completely insane- 

That was before, he reminded himself. Then. 

Right as he had started therapy, was still unsure of why, of himself, of his memories. Those were the worst to get through. The fractures. The damned holes. Just fucking missing. Gone. Black as space. All of it was bullshit, and it messed with him. Bad. 

Steve. 

Every moment that he could, there beside him. As if he deserved it. The acceptance was just as bad some nights as the- He was fucked. But Steve just kept on, little stupid shit like baseball trivia to catch him up to current. Updating his iPod. Leaving paperbacks on his bunk. Some days he'd bring his guitar. Work on something, maybe just play. Draw. The charcoal on Steve's hands made Bucky want to become a canvas for those pitch black fingertips, palms. Feel the sweep against his skin. It made him angry. Pissed. Fucking done. So done. 

Steve Rogers was not his Stevie. He hadn't been even when Bucky had fallen down that cold-ass mountain and wetly choked his last breaths, the taste of salt and iron in his mouth. He wasn't now. He was closer then, though. Still sort of wide-eyed. The bravado hid the innocence. Fuck, no. That wasn't it- not innocent. Not really, with his neighborhood. Steve was an accepting guy. Tolerant. That was all that had been. Steve had been tolerant of him; he was not The Asset, not Bucky. Steve had settled on James then. Just for a time, he'd said. Until Bucky got himself together again. He wasn't fucking Humpty-Dumpty or some shit. He was a shattered man. Body. Mind. Fuck all. Everything. 

Then the camera. Instant pictures. Why it even came close to amazing him at first, he'd never know. Maybe because it was just that. Instant. He'd started skulking. Lurked, but not in a menacing way, and began silently cataloging Steve's life in the tower. Nat. The one person Steve seemed to jive with was a woman and that had made him both laugh at the thought as he slowly disassembled the motorcycle he'd been given as a part of his therapy, and made him white-hot jealous. Angry enough to pull the horns off a brass monkey. And keep all the fucking rings. He knew she wasn't his gal or anything, but Steve was his. It was- he was the boy that had overcome everything. Boy made good. As Bucky had been. James, James wasn't sure who the hell he was.

Bucky came back to himself, shook off the memories, looked at the sea of pictures that covered the bed. Their bed. 

God, how had he become so lucky? A guy like him, just a moke. Someone who had joined because it would mean a pension for his 'brother' if he died over there... but here they were. Fucking lucky sons of bitches is what they were. 

"Hits me like a freight train-" He spoke quietly, his voice more gruff than he liked. He hated this. The way he felt inadequate. What a fucking word. "How much you loved me. Even then."

He felt some of the weight in his chest let go as he spoke to the quiet, empty room. His eyes fell to a particularly grainy photo. He'd kept it because it was Steve. Shirtless. That had been a punch to his gut. Man was as cherry-hot as he'd been before they both had lost themselves. His cock had jumped, harder than vibranium at the sight. His first hard on in fuck-all years. And of course, it would be Steve. The one he didn't deserve. Well, Steve had finally kicked that notion out of him, mostly. Now, he could close his eyes, trace through memory every perfect inch of the pretty that was his- boyfriend? They'd never really decided what to call one another. The media had their ideas, people in their masses had theirs. It was simple, Steve was his heart. Kept him alive. 

The air in his fucking lungs.

"Hey, baby I thought we'd-" Steve's voice carried through to the bedroom. Fuck. Not enough time. He had to- "What's that you've got? Old pictures?" The easy as Sunday morning smile crossed Steve's lips. "Bet there are some good ones in there." 

Bucky stood quickly, pulled at the bedding so it haphazardly covered what it could. "Need a walk."

It would be better. Let Steve see what he'd hidden. Figure out what he wanted to from them, ignore the rest. He just wished he could stuff it all down the chute. Dirty laundry, right? That was what it all was. Soiled memoried staining Steve's crisp white sheets. Fuck this. He brushed past, pulled on his running shoes with a practiced motion. 

"Clear your head?" The soft question came over his right shoulder. The warm hand went to the middle of his back. Not holding, not restraining. Open. 

Why in the hell should Steve have to be so damn accepting of this? Of him. It wasn't right- to saddle him with- no. 

Bucky gave a sharp shake of his head. 

"Yes." He wanted to say so much more, but it wasn't him. How would he ever get it all out in a way Steve, hell anyone, could understand. "Fucking mess- I'm sorry, Steve."

"Wait, Bucky. Baby, please." He could feel Steve come close, just behind him, against him. Still to his right, giving Bucky an easy way out if it was too much. "Let me try to help. Come on, what's this about?"

"You love me." What the fuck was he doing? They didn't need this. "That's what this is about. You love me and I don't fucking deserve any of it, no don't, I know, yes, alright. Not going to help. Words. It's too- it's all tangled, Stevie." 

Even he could hear the whine in his voice, the thin sound that he absolutely hated. It wasn't him. Not when he was when he was younger, not as the Asset, and certainly not right fucking now. He had Steve, why was there this weight that always dragged him into the black tar that he struggled to get out of? This was too much fucking introspection. Too much of this mumbo-jumbo and not enough getting over it and going forward. He wasn't some dickhead who cried over simple shit. This was simple. He'd lost time. Lost himself. Lost Steve for fuck's sake.

But he had them back. All of it. 

What the fuck was his problem?

"Earth to Dorothy, come in Dorothy..." Steve's voice was still soft. Understanding.

Not what he needed. Not right now. "Fuck off, Rogers." 

"Look, I know it's hard. This feels like Oz, like a place that doesn't exist, and Tony is the idiot Wizard who promises everything... but, it's not. It's you- and me, baby. If you need to take a run, go. I'm never going to stop you. Sometimes, things feel too big for me, too. Even now. I get it, Buck."

Steve's hand came up to pull hard at the hairs at the nape of Bucky's neck, held on as his other found Bucky's hips. Held him there. Sure, he could break it, part of him wanted to yank away, the part- well he didn't know which part of him did. There was more of him that wanted to stay. Melt. 

Fucking weakness. Not one, he knew, but Christ in Heaven.

"I get you. Don't you see it, you dick?" The harsh scrape of teeth was unexpected, especially from Steve. "I fucking love you. To hell with everything else. It's us, right? Til' the end of the line?"

Bucky growled, tried to move just enough to turn around and face Steve. He couldn't budge. 

"I'm warning you, Barnes." Steve held Bucky where he had him, pushed him against the wall. Pinned him with hot hips, the outline of a hard cock against his ass, Steve's hand tangling further in Bucky's hair. "No, Bucky, enough. I'm in this." 

His hand moved, undid Bucky's thick belt. Steve did a slow grind against the rise of Bucky's ass as his jeans slipped down to expose the thin material of his boxer briefs. "It's not picture perfect... not what we had in mind. It's better. It's ours." Fingers snaked between the cool wall and his barely covered cock, gave him a good squeeze, teased. Left to search and slip between the band and skin. Steve pulled it down roughly as his spoke, pressed wet kisses to Bucky's neck. "Heartbreaker, come on, let me. Hell." 

He'd moved, undid his own jeans, pulled them away. His briefs. 

Fucking Stevie. "I'm a fucking wreck-"

"We both are, baby. We both are." Steve pressed his dick against Bucky's cleft, let their body heat, their sweat, ease the glide. "Don't you know that? How broke I was?" The thrust burned at his skin, but fuck did it feel good, the way Steve was right there. Teased him. "Still am, Buck. Still am."

Bucky could hear Steve's voice break, said things they could only say to one another. Who the fuck else would understand? Fuck them all. 

"Come on, Stevie... show me. Show me how much, fucking please." Fingers pressed against him, quickly spit-slick, the head of Steve riding against the rim, slipping along as Steve fingered him. It was rough. Dirty. "Fuck! More, please." 

Even he could hear it in his own voice, what he refused to admit. It rode this edge. He'd crumble soon, give into it, to Stevie. How it was broke even now as Steve thrust into him, full tilt. No apology. Just filled him as he cried out, ragged breath lost. Held him close, arm between him and the wall now, lips and teeth at his ear, his throat, his shoulder. 

"You're all of it, of me. All I wanna know. Ever." Steve's words crashed over him. 

His hand found Steve's hair, gripped what he could. Pressed into the thrust, their balls sliding as Bucky canted his hips back, his mouth finding fingers against his chest to suck. Bite. He needed all of him. All of Steve. Now. Always. Fuck. He was completely lost and could give a damn at this moment what that meant. He couldn't be good for him, but for now, maybe he could be just good enough. Words he hardly spoke whispered between them. Bucky knew Steve deserved more, better. But, it didn't make them, how Bucky felt for him, any less real. He needed Steve. His rock. The one person that kept him sane. Had had Bucky head over heels by the time they were fourteen and fifteen. 

Back then, it was just puppy love. Not serious enough to own up to, not until he was ready for it. If it was. Bucky knew the night he'd seen Cap. What it was. Knew his Stevie was still in there somewhere. That they'd still be- But now? He was Steve's completely. 

"Take it. Take me, then." Bucky heard the choke in his throat as he swallowed, a rough sob came out anyway. "Fuck me, Stevie, come in me. Lemme feel you. Need you, baby."

Steve pulled out, turned Bucky roughly to push him against the wall again. Up it, as he lifted Bucky, his thighs wrapped by Steve's capable hands. "You have me, Buck. Always have." As he slipped back in, Bucky sucked a breath sharply between his teeth, dropped his head against the plaster that they were about to wreck. "Lemme, fuck, so perfect. So, so perfect." 

His hand cradled Steve's head while the arm steadied him against the wall. His hips rocked hard, their mouths pressed close, humid breath between them. Bucky's balls rubbed at the base of Steve as his dick slid against Steve's stomach; it was fucking bliss. This right here. Nothing better. He closed his eyes, let himself feel the strength in Steve's body, trusted it. 

So fucking lucky. So, so fucking lucky-

Bucky came, hot and slick between them, skin slippery from his release edged him through it until he whined Steve's name, his thick cock still working itself into his body, owning him. A few sharp thrusts, Steve murmuring over and over how much love he had for him. He kept them against the wall until his legs could be trusted, took them both to bed to spoon Bucky, keep him skin-against-skin. Bucky thought about the last five years, of Steve, his patience, his love. Memories flooded him as he let go, let himself feel it. 

"I know, Buck. Dark days- they're gonna happen." Steve traced with artists hands the lines of Bucky's body. "I have them, too. Have enough busted bags to prove that, don't I?"

Bucky looked at the pictures still scattered half-under the blanket and sheet. "It's our life. I just- I wanna capture it."

**Author's Note:**

> This work is heavily influenced by Imagine Dragons- Smoke + Mirrors Album. 
> 
> Title taken from 'Polaroid', off of Smoke + Mirrors
> 
> Title and last line nod to Stephrc79's current ongoing work: [The Life of Bucky Barnes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3376088/chapters/7384379) (Based upon the Instagram [The Life of Bucky Barnes](https://instagram.com/the_life_of_bucky_barnes/) by [Petite-Madame](http://petite-madame.tumblr.com/)).


End file.
